


There's Always A First

by the-eagle-of-masyaf (Dunkelherz)



Series: There's Always A First [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, No Fluff, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:33:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dunkelherz/pseuds/the-eagle-of-masyaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Becoming a father is easy, being one is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's Always A First

“What?” His voice cut through the air like a knife at the knock to his door and to Altair, it felt like as if he was interrupted that night for what felt like the dozenth time. He watched across the flickering light of the low burning candle in front of him when the door opened, revealing one of his men standing in the shadow of the quiet hall behind him. He looked… uncomfortable and Altair sighed, leaning back heavily in his chair and put the quill carefully down. “Yes?”, he asked again and he was already annoyed, he knew it was showing in his voice as well. He looked expectingly at the man standing in the door and while Assad didn’t look afraid he seemed quite… helpless. Lost, really, and now he got Altair’s curiosity.

  
  


“Master”, he said in a low voice, head poking into the room first blocking Altair’s view to the hall, then, eventually stepped away and revealed what was the meaning of his disturbance. There was a boy standing behind him, wearing no shirt but only a loose pair of pants, a blanket in one hand – the same hand he held up to his mouth so he could suck on his thumb. His hair was almost as black as the night, eyes big, face red as if he’d just cried. If Altair looked closely, he could still see the tracks of tears on his cheeks. Assad swallowed heavily, the boy not moving as if he was hiding behind the guard’s legs. Altair’s gaze lingered on him for a short moment, then he looked back at the quill. “His mother isn’t here”, he said in a rather pressed voice.

  
  


“I know”, Assad said but didn’t show any intention to leave and take the boy with him. “We can’t find her.”

  
  


“What do you mean, you can’t find her?” Altair looked sharply up but it didn’t have any effect on Assad – the man wasn’t for nothing his son’s guard, if looks could intimidate him, Altair wouldn’t have picked him for the job in the first place. “She’s with the Dai and we can’t find the both of them”, Assad explained and then, rather awkwardly, added “He’s been crying quite a lot Master.”

  
  


Altair looked from between Assad and Darim, then back up at Assad. He made a small gesture with his hand and the candle’s flame trembled when Assad closed the door behind him and left Darim with Altair in his studies, alone. The boy stood as if his feet were glued to the floor, not moving an inch. He looked afraid and Altair couldn’t really hold it against him. He took a look at Darim one last time before he picked up his quill again, dipping it into the ink and moved it once more across the paper lying in front of him. The only noise filling the room was the scratching of his writing and every now and then, the silence was broken by some of the boy’s sniffles. Sniffles which got closer and when Altair looked up again he could see the hint of black hair at the other side of his desk since Darim wasn’t big enough yet to overlook it.

  
  


“I won’t bite you”, Altair said without looking up from his writing and when his eyes went to Darim’s spot again, he found that the black hair was missing but caught a small movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head just so to his left. Darim was standing there, thumb still in his mouth, blanket clutched tightly in his small fist. He had a runny nose and there were tears glistening in his eyes.

  
  


Altair couldn’t really hold it against his son for being afraid of him. Darim had just turned three and Altair could count the hours he spent with him during the week on one hand. The boy simply didn’t know him yet and it made him feel awkward that Maria wasn’t here right now to take care of Darim. She was a lot better at it than he was and it reminded him that she always scolded him when being with Darim.

  
  


_You talk with him like he's an adult Altair._

  
  


He just didn’t know better.

  
  


Darim sniffled again, loudly this time and whimpered. It was enough for Altair to put down his quill for good. It didn’t look like as if he would get any work done tonight so he got up, walking past Darim and sat down on one of the large cushions decorating the floor underneath the window. He looked at Darim, head cocked to one side and it took the boy another couple of minutes before his small feet moved slowly over the cold floor and over to Altair until he stood in front of him.

  
  


“Why are you crying?”, Altair asked and it only stung a little that his son, his only son, was too afraid to sit down next to him even when he was looking as if he was about to fall asleep while standing – at least it was what Altair liked to pretend… that it only stung a little.

  
  


“Mama”, Darim said and pulled up his nose, his voice sounding pitiful. “She’ll be back soon”, Altair nodded and he thought it wasn’t too bad what he’d just said but the boy’s face just turned redder, big tears were building in his eyes and he choked on them. “Mama”, he said again and Altair felt completely helpless. He felt completely helpless and terrified because for the first time ever Maria wasn’t there and Malik wasn’t either and he just simply didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t good at this. He wasn’t good at being a father, he knew it. He probably was the worst father ever, having his crying son standing in front of him and not able to lift his arm to invite him into a hug. There was some heavy weight pushing them down, making it impossible for him to move, even speaking seemed difficult. He just wasn’t used to… being alone with Darim.

  
  


“Mama…” Darim sniffled and maybe it was nothing but despair that made him move his feet, but he did come closer and eventually, crawled into Altair’s lap. Maybe it was also tiredness that made Darim surrender, seeking the comfort of a man who was his father but nothing but a stranger to him. Altair lifted his hand, ever so carefully and placed it onto the boy’s back. It was too big, almost covering all of it and for a moment he felt like after Darim had been born, when he’d been too afraid to hold him for months, fearing he could maybe drop him or hurt him otherwise. It made him realize painfully just how fragile his son was, how easy his tiny life could end… and how much he was missing because of his stupid fears. Ever since he’d found out Maria’s pregnant he’d been afraid. He’d been afraid about becoming a father, then about the birth and after that… once Darim had been born, he’d been simply afraid of him. Of a boy so small that his hand was almost bigger than his back. It was pathetic, maybe and the thought made his throat feel too tight, his arms too heavy.

  
  


“Your Papa’s here too you know?”, he muttered, not knowing where it had come from but his voice was low, like a small rumble washing through his body as he pulled Darim close against him, his hand rubbing over his back in a calming matter.

  
  


“Mama…”, Darim cried again and it made Altair’s heart heavy. It didn't made it any better that the boy was pressing his hands against his shoulder to push himself away from him and Altair realized, the more he held onto him the more Darim would struggle, so... he simply let go and it felt like failing. He was failing as a father, every day for the last three years he'd witnessed it and yet, he couldn't stop it. He'd never made a lie out of it that he hadn't been exactly thrilled when he'd found out about Maria's pregnancy. In fact, if he remembered correctly he'd had quiet the panic attack – first and last one in his life so far. Altair had never thought about having... children. To be honest, he hadn't even pictured himself to life that long which alone was odd enough and now? Now he was sitting here with a struggling, upset little boy in his lap who was his own flesh and blood. He'd killed men, had stare death in the face more than one time and it was this boy, this little tiny cute -cute?- boy who was terrifying him more than anything else in his life had before.

 

“You're making a mess”, Altair told Darim, the boy standing at arm's length in front of him, snot running down his nose. Darim pulled it up loudly but it didn't help it only made it worse because now he was having a hiccup. Altair sighed heavily, thought for a moment then got up and took Darim underneath his arms, the boy yelping in surprise as Altair placed him down on his desk, small legs dangling over the edge while his father let himself drop into his chair, leaning his cheek heavily on his hand, watching Darim with a curious but helpless look in his eyes. “What am I going to do with you now?”, he wondered out loud, Darim simply looking at him with his hiccup shaking his whole frame. Altair pulled one drawer open and took out a handkerchief, holding it up in front of Darim. “Take that”, he said and shook it a little but Darim didn't even look at it but had his gaze set firmly on his father. “Blow your nose”, Altair added. Darim didn't move. Altair waved the handkerchief once more and with a roll of his eyes, leaned forward and held it up to Darim's nose to wipe it and his mouth clean. Altair quickly put it aside and turned his attention back on him.

 

“Why are you not wearing your shirt?”, he asked next because it was early spring, not warm enough yet for the boy to sleep like that. It didn't really surprise him not getting an answer from him. “Did your mother dress you like that?” Darim shook his head. “Did you take it off yourself?” Darim nodded. “Why?” No reaction. It made Altair frustrated and he wiped his face with one hand. “We better get you dressed again.” Because there was no doubt Maria would probably bicker at him for not dressing the boy properly. He didn't know where is clothes where though so Altair got up to cross the room so he could enter his and Maria's bedroom and-

 

He heard a loud sniffle behind him and another tiny whimper.

 

Altair turned back to his desk, Darim looking at him with wide anxious eyes and holding out his arms. “Now you want to come with me?”, he asked but of course didn't get an answer. He went back and after he stood for a small while in front of Darim, he sighed and picked him up. Small arms immediately closed around his neck and a warm, rather hot little body pressed tight against him. “You're a bit warm, aren't you?”, Altair pondered and walked the same way back, one arm holding Darim against him while his hand sneaked out to open the door to his and Maria's room. Darim didn't look up from where his face was buried in the crook of Altair's neck when he walked over to their bed and slowly let Darim down – which was a bit difficult with how tight he held onto Altair, which surprised him to be honest considering the fact not too long ago Darim hadn't wanted to be hold by him.

 

Altair went to the end of the bed where was a big trunk standing and he opened it, pulling out a shirt of his own. “It'll probably look more like a nightgown on you”, he muttered more to himself than to Darim as he held it up in front of him. When he looked over at the boy he saw how he'd crawled into the middle of bed, thumb back in his mouth while he still held on to that blanket as if his life was depending on it. “Come here”, Altair told him but Darim didn't move so he simply put one knee onto the bed, making the mattress dip underneath his weight and put the shirt over Darim's head, the boy not resisting. “Arms”, Altair said and to his surprise, Darim wiggled them out of the sleeves. It were short sleeves but they looked like long ones on the boy. Altair sat back and glanced Darim once over, one eyebrow arched. God it looked awful and Maria would laugh at him but it was the best he could do right now. “Alright”, he said and stood back up, Darim sitting on the bed in what looked like a dress. “You're going to wait here until your mother returns”, Altair told him sternly and made to leave the room.

 

“Papa not go.”

 

He stopped on his heels before his hand could grab the door handle, looking over his shoulder back at the bed. Darim was kneeling at the edge of it, holding out his hands and oh- he looked pitiful like that. “Not go”, he said again and shook his head eagerly, pouting a little. He wondered how he could say no to that. There was work waiting on his desk, still so much to do and yet... “Papa”, Darim sniffled again and Altair's hand dropped off the handle and he shuffled back to the bed, stopping right in front of his son and he was actually smiling, although he had a runny nose. Again.

 

Darim reached for his hand, looking at it. Altair simply watched how Darim turned his hand over, looking curious at it and it took him a moment longer to realize _why_ he was so interested in it because it was the one with the missing finger. Altair let Darim have his hand as long as he wanted to and only when he let go did he sit on the bed's edge and kicked his boots off, sending them flying across the room. He hadn't even made himself comfortable when the boy was crawling up next to him, putting his head down onto the cushion that was on Altair's side of the bed. His cheeks looked rosy and eyes a bit glassy and now Altair actually reached out, Darim letting him touch his face. “I think you're sick little man”, he said and it would maybe explain his cranky mood and why he'd been crying so much. Darim didn't say anything and he looked rather lost in Altair's shirt and inside the big bed. Altair watched him for a moment, head cocked to one side while pursing his lips. “Let me get one thing”, he said and made to get up again, earning him a groan from Darim.

 

“I come back right away”, Altair told him but it didn't convince Darim and he whined loudly when Altair left the room, only for it to become a wailing which made Altair cringe and he made sure to grab everything he needed quickly before Darim's screams would wake up whole Masyaf. Big tears were running down his cheeks when he went back into the bedroom, some papers stuffed underneath one arm, a quill and a closed jar of ink stuffed into his pant's pocket and a low burning candle in the other hand. “I'm here I'm here... fuck”, Altair groaned and kicked the door shut behind him again, Darim's cries dying immediately on his lips as he turned on the oil lamps inside the room, their flickering light painting trembling shadows on the wall. “I'm here”, he said again, quieter, more gentle now and put the ink, paper as well as the quill down onto the small table next to the bed, on Maria's side of it. Darim was still sniffling, crying a little but he was calming down as soon as he'd seen his father back with him in the room.

 

Altair was sitting back on the bed, back leaning against the head with his legs crossed. He reached for the paper and quill – maybe he would get done some work like this. He heard movement and saw out of the corner of his eye how Darim crawled across the bed until he had reached Altair's pillow again and after a while watching Altair write, made himself comfortable and laid down on top of the covers. Altair relaxed visible when for a long moment the only thing that could be heard in the room was his writing again and he had even dared to think Darim was asleep when-

 

“Papa...”

 

His voice was small and tired and Altair turned his head. “Go sleep”, he told him – it was already way too late for him to stay up and Darim really looked tired but the little boy yet refused to let sleep overcome him. “Papa”, Darim said again, this time it almost sounded like a question. He moved closer to Altair and eventually, he lifted his arm, Darim scooting to his side. He wasn't pressing against him, just laying in reach and he would roll against Altair if he should decide to move. For now, this was alright. It wasn't too bad, Altair decided.

 

He actually got his work done and over the time, Darim had changed positions, his head resting on one of Altair's legs and he was asleep, finally. He was snoring like an old one-eyed seaman though, but it could be worse. He only looked up when the door to the bedroom opened, Maria closing it gently behind her and leaning with her back against it. “What's happening here?”, she said as she crossed her arms in front of her chest, one eyebrow arched when her gaze fell on Altair and Darim. He looked sharply at her, putting the quill down before he placed the paper onto the bedside table. “You weren't here to take care of him, that's what happened”, he said.

 

Maria sent him an amused little smile. “He's usually asleep at this time.”

 

“Well not today”, Altair told her in a snappy voice. “Today he decided to cry for most of the evening. I think he's getting sick.”

 

The smile vanished from Maria's lips and she cocked her head to one side, pushing herself off the door. “He looks flushed, yes”, she muttered and went over to the bed, sitting carefully on it to not wake her son and reached out to feel his forehead. “He has a fever.”

 

“Told you so”, Altair muttered quietly and wished he'd be able to move his legs – they had fallen asleep long ago but he didn't dare to wake the boy up. “You smell of-”, he said but Maria cut him off.

 

“I was with Malik”, she simply told him, leaning over to place a gentle kiss on his lips.

 

“Assad told me you're with him.”

 

“We didn't want to disturb you”, she explained and stroke with the back of her fingers down his cheek. “Stop pouting now... it doesn't suit you.”

 

“I'm not mad”, Altair said and watched how Darim twitched in his sleep – for a moment he went all tense, afraid he might wake up again although this time Maria was there and Darim would probably more than happy to see her.

 

“Then what is that makes you frown so much?”, Maria pondered and made herself comfortable next to Altair, pressing against his side and sneaking her way underneath his arm. Great, now he had two weights pressed tight against him and Maria was just as warm as Darim, making him sweat.

 

“You take care of him”, was all he said and it took Maria a moment to realize what he was talking about but when she understood, her lips took the shape of a small o.

 

“He needs his father Altair”, she told him in a low but gentle voice and it made him cringe because he knew just how right she was. He wanted to be – he honestly wanted to be the father Darim needed but he couldn't. “And I know you didn't like it either when he called Malik Papa that one time so I know there must be some love in here.” She tipped with her finger against Altair's chest where his heart was.

 

“Of course I love him”, Altair muttered but it sounded weak.

 

“I know you do”, Maria scoffed and ruffled his hair, Altair glaring at her. “But Darim doesn't. He's three Altair, I got it in his head that he knows _you_ are his father but he doesn't understand when you cut him off all the time.”

 

“I'm not-”

 

“Don't you dare.” Now Maria was the one glaring at him and he closed his mouth, knowing all too well she was right and that he'd just told the biggest lie. Of course he cut him off and _knowing_ it made it hurt so much more. “Why?”, she asked eventually and it wasn't the first time she did. After Darim had been born and after the weeks had passed in which he'd refused to take the infant on his arms, she had started noticing and only after Darim was six month old had she asked him for the first time. She'd also asked him if he hated the baby. No, of course he didn't. But did he love the baby? Back then, Altair had told her no and he had seen right there how he'd crushed her heart for the second time in her life. But Maria was stubborn and so was Altair and if there was such a thing as postpartal depression, then maybe men could get it too. He had eventually grown fond of Darim and after another half a year had passed, he'd finally started to love him. Malik always told him he'd loved Darim right from the beginning, just didn't know it. On some days, Altair could believe him. On most days he couldn't.

 

“I don't know”, Altair murmured and Maria sighed heavily beside him, slowly getting up and sitting on the bed with her feet touching the cold floor. “Promise me you try?”, she whispered and again, it wasn't the first time she asked him that. “I promise”, he nodded. For the moment, it was all he could do.


End file.
